


A Little Work, A Little Play

by Mara



Category: TharnType the Series (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-18
Updated: 2020-02-18
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:41:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22787347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mara/pseuds/Mara
Summary: Type is aprofessionaland he’s not watching Tharn swan around the office with his smoking hot arms and unfairly sexy wireframe glasses. Absolutely not.
Relationships: Tharn Kirigun/Type (TharnType)
Comments: 22
Kudos: 274





	A Little Work, A Little Play

**Author's Note:**

  * For [taytawans](https://archiveofourown.org/users/taytawans/gifts).



> This fic is Leejians’ fault for encouraging me. So there. And it also exists because I want this TV show very very badly. (C’mon, tell me you wouldn’t watch the _hell_ out of Mew and Gulf starring in a slow burn office romance, with them wearing well-fitted suits in every episode, smooching by the copier, and casting smoldering glances over meeting room tables. You can tell me that, but I won’t believe you.)
> 
> For the record, I know absolutely nothing about how talent agencies work in either Thailand or the US and chose to do no research because this is purely me having some fun.

Type was absolutely not looking at Tharn again, even if the jerk was unfairly handsome with his muscled arms and his wireframe glasses perched on the tip of his nose.

Tharn had only worked at this talent agency for three weeks, but it seemed like Type couldn’t turn a corner without running into him. His office was near Type’s but still…he was inescapable.

However, Type Thiwat was a _professional_ and he was in this room to defend his clients’ interest. And he’d be damned if this shoe advertisement was going to go to some punk rock jerk rather than one of his football players.

The problem is that he had to convince senior management of this before it got presented to the advertising agency client. And fucking Tharn Kirigun had just moseyed into the meeting and derailed everything. Who the hell invited him?

Tharn sat directly across from Type, his smug smirk plastered across his face.

“It makes no sense,” Type said through gritted teeth, “to present a musician for a shoe ad. Nobody thinks music when they’re looking for shoes.”

“But these are stylish shoes,” Tharn said. “Nobody thinks of athletes when they’re looking for style.”

Former pro football player Type had to restrain the urge to leap across the table and punch him.

When the meeting was over, Type stalked out first, unwilling to spend another minute in the room. Which, of course, is why fucking Tharn followed him to his office, leaning in the doorway, arms crossed and every muscle on display.

“Bad luck,” Tharn said as Type dropped into his chair.

“What bad luck? I have a footballer who would be perfect for that account but now we’re going to lose to another talent agency because you just had to interfere.”

“What if we don’t lose the account?”

“Huh?” Type looked up from his computer.

Raising an eyebrow, Tharn smirked at him. “What will you give me if my client wins the account?”

“Why would I give you anything?”

“Consider it a bet. If you’re right I’ll stop ‘interfering.’ If I’m right…you’ll go out on a date with me.”

Type choked in outrage.

Still grinning, Tharn pushed off the doorway and left.

“Wait, what are you…”

But Tharn was gone.

“Bastard.” Type slumped in his chair. “Well, it doesn’t matter, since they won’t win.”

* * *

When the email arrived, Type was on the phone with the producer of a game show, trying to convince her that _this time_ the rugby player he represented wouldn’t spend all his time trying to get in the pants of the two hostesses. (Even Type didn’t believe it, but he had to try.)

He opened the email absently, then his brain screeched to a halt when he saw the note of congratulations to Tharn for his client winning the shoe account. What the fuck?

“Excuse me?” the producer yelled.

“Uh, sorry.” Damn it, he hadn’t realized he said it aloud. “I’ll find someone else for next week, okay? I’ve got a golfer. Not as well-known but better behaved. Good? Great. We’ll talk later.” And he slammed the desk phone down, still staring at the email. Seriously, what the actual fucking fuck?

Stomping out of his office, he went three doors down. “What the fuck?” he asked, blowing into Tharn’s office and slamming the door closed behind him.

Tharn looked up from his computer. “I heard you the first time, you know.”

“Then what’s the answer?”

Tharn stood and Type realized that he had his jacket off and his sleeves rolled up, showing off his muscular forearms. Coming from behind the desk, Tharn stepped toward him. “The answer?”

Type stepped back, almost knocking a framed photo off the wall as he bumped into it. “Answer?”

“I’m not sure what question I’m answering.”

Type couldn’t focus with Tharn getting closer. How the hell did the man manage to loom when he was shorter by a good inch? “Answer…how…your client. How did they get the shoe account?”

Tharn smirked, leaning closer. “We got the account because I’m…just…that…good.”

Type couldn’t breathe, his heart trying to blast out of his chest. “Uh…”

“I’ll pick you up at 6,” Tharn whispered in his ear.

“What?”

Tharn opened the office door and smiled at Type. “See you then.”

And Tharn strolled out the door of his own office, leaving Type thoroughly baffled.

* * *

Type was too irritated to get any more work done, so he went home early. Still fuming, he slammed his apartment door shut, tossing his tie and jacket aside.

Slumping onto his couch, Type lay his head back and groaned. Why was he plagued like this? All he wanted was to do his damn job.

Frustrated, he grabbed the remote and started flipping through stations until he found a football game. He didn’t have the energy to care too much about who was playing, he just needed the familiarity.

The doorbell rang and Type turned off the TV, scowling as he opened the door. “I’m not—”

Tharn stood there, grinning, in a pair of jeans that looked painted on and a tight navy blue t-shirt. “Sorry I’m a few minutes late.”

“Late? Uh…”

“For our date?”

Type blinked. “But that was a joke.”

Tharn just smiled brightly at him.

“Why…” Type didn’t even know what he was trying to say.

“Oh!” Tharn smirked. “Maybe you think we should…” He leaned forward until their noses were almost touching. “…stay in tonight?”

“Wh—no, no!” Type stumbled backward.

Tharn stepped forward into the apartment, closing the door behind him. “Then you should change. You’re a little overdressed.”

Type backed away, certain Tharn was going to do something like offer to help him change, but the man sat down on his couch like he belonged there.

Scurrying to his room, Type changed to jeans and a t-shirt as well. When he hesitantly stepped out of his room, Tharn looked him up and down approvingly. “Better.”

Tharn stood slowly, drawing attention to his muscular legs and arms that nearly bulged out of his clothing. Holding out a hand, Tharn said, “Shall we?”

Type had no idea what he was doing, but he took Tharn’s hand and let Tharn lead him out the door.

* * *

Halfway to the elevator, Type snapped out of his daze, yanking his hand back. “Wait!”

Tharn turned, slipping his hands into his pockets. “Hmm?”

“I didn’t agree to a date!”

“Well, you have to eat dinner, right?”

“Er, yes?”

“Then come with me to this great noodle place I found and eat dinner. As colleagues.”

Type wanted to argue but couldn’t quite figure out which part he was arguing with. “I guess.”

“It’s just a few blocks away, so we can walk.” Tharn kept walking to the elevator. Over his shoulder, he called, “C’mon, I’m starving.”

“Pushy bastard,” Type muttered. But he had to admit he _was_ hungry, so he entered the elevator.

* * *

The noodle place _was_ really good and dinner was more pleasant than Type expected. When they weren’t talking about work, Tharn was kind of interesting.

Tharn told Type about his college band and asked Type about his brief football career. Type appreciated that, since most people assumed he didn’t want to remember the injury that had ended things so early.

They talked about food and Type teased Tharn about not liking spicy or raw food. They talked about television and Tharn laughed when Type admitted that he watched lakorns. (“Ironically! They’re funny!”)

When it was late and they couldn’t justify sitting there any longer, they left, heading back toward Type’s home. Type’s earlier anxiety was back with a vengeance. Had that been a date? It felt like a date no matter what he said.

Neither spoke as they approached the apartment. At the building’s front door, Tharn paused and Type did too, staring down at the crack in the sidewalk. “Um…” Type said.

Tharn put a finger on Type’s chin, gently lifting his head. “I had a very nice time,” he said with a genuine smile.

Type couldn’t breathe as he looked at him. “Me too.”

Tharn’s hand dropped. “I’ll see you at work tomorrow, then. Bye!” He turned and walked away.

Standing on the sidewalk in the dark, Type stared. What the fuck? And why did everything Tharn did lead to him asking that same question?

Type’s dreams that night were interesting, which meant he woke in a foul mood. There wasn’t enough coffee in the world to handle this, but he made a solid effort, drinking two cups before he left home and going for another as soon as he arrived in the office.

Type glared at the office machine as the coffee slowly dripped into his mug.

“Did the coffee maker do something to you?” Tharn asked from behind him.

Type jumped, almost knocking the mug over. “Don’t sneak up on me!” he said.

Tharn just grinned as he reached around Type to put his own mug in place.

It was hard to breathe with Tharn so close, his arm with the sleeve rolled up _again_ brushing against Type’s own arm. Type swallowed sharply, then pushed past. “I need to make a call.”

“Okay,” Tharn said, sounding unruffled as he stepped aside.

Type sat down at his desk and realized he had to actually make a call or look ridiculous. Glancing at his calendar, he sighed and picked up the phone to call his contact for a sportswear manufacturer. There was a rumor they were looking to create a new line and it wouldn’t hurt to get an in now.

Tharn walked by a minute later and Type’s throat went dry as Tharn took off those damn glasses and slipped them into his shirt pocket. Type took a gulp of his coffee and tried to focus.

* * *

Of course, all the admins disappeared just when Type needed a set of photocopies for a 1 pm meeting. Cursing, he grabbed his pages and went to brave the copier himself.

Why, Type wanted to know, were the copier controls more complicated than even the fanciest car he’d ever seen? He stared at the screen, looking for something that said “just make a copy of these papers” but was unsuccessful.

Hesitantly, he put the pages in the tray, then pushed the big green button. There was a great deal of whirring and clanking and eventually three sad blank pieces of paper emerged.

“Do you need help?” Tharn asked.

This time, Type was glad he wasn’t holding coffee, because he would have dropped it. But he whirled to stare at Tharn. “You know how to work it?”

He shrugged. “I made some extra money in college working in an office as an admin.”

For a moment, all Type could see was young Tharn in a college uniform sitting behind an admin’s desk, looking admiringly at him and—

Type’s brain screeched to a halt. Swallowing his pride, he pointed to the papers. “Can you please help me make 10 copies?”

“Absolutely.” Tharn’s smile was probably illegal in several countries. He leaned forward as if to impart a secret and Type couldn’t help leaning in as well. “I can never resist someone who says please,” Tharn whispered.

Tharn stepped around a stunned Type and pushed a few buttons. “Do they need staples?”

“Yes,” Type managed to say, barely resisting the need to say ‘please’ again. He turned just as Tharn grabbed the originals and handed them back. “Thank you,” he muttered.

“You’re welcome,” Tharn said, strolling out of the copy room.

* * *

Type sat at his computer after the meeting and tried to focus. He had a million calls to make, a client to corral through three interviews this afternoon…so why was his brain busy replaying Tharn’s smile before he left the previous night? Why was his nose smelling Tharn’s cologne instead of his fresh cup of coffee?

He’s a jerk, Type reminded himself. He’s just playing around. He’s trying to get you to admit you’re attracted to him.

You’re not gay, he thought firmly. Bi, yes, but that didn’t mean he had to be interested in the lone gay guy in the office. Even if that guy could easily have been a model himself for practically any brand.

 _Especially_ in that case. Tharn could hit any gay bar in town and find a guy interested in him. There was no reason for him to really be interested in a grumpy closet case like Type. This had to be some kind of game.

Teeth grinding, Type opened up a document to write up a proposal for a new Muay Thai fighter the agency had signed on.

* * *

Type worked a little late to make up for leaving early the day before, catching up on email and finally getting his inbox down to fewer than 100 emails.

Stretching, he felt his back crack. Ugh, he’d better remember to do his exercises more frequently or everything was going to lock up and the rehab orthopedist would say he’d told him so. Gathering his things, he shoved them in his briefcase.

“Leaving?” Tharn asked from the doorway.

Type didn’t look up. “Yes.”

“I’ll walk out with you.”

“Do as you like,” Type muttered.

Tharn chuckled. “I nearly always do.”

Type just shook his head and stood, brushing past Tharn, who stayed in the doorway until he’d passed.

As they went through the front door of the office, Tharn said, “You like that raw crap. Have you been to the Japanese place on Ratchadaphisek in Khlong Toei?”

“Yeah, it’s good.” Type’s mouth watered, remembering.

“Let’s go. My treat.”

Type gave him an incredulous look as they stopped at the elevator, but Tharn was busy pushing the down button and adjusting his cuffs. What the fuck? (Damn it, Tharn had made him say it again.) “Fine,” he huffed. “For the sushi.”

“Of course.” Tharn smiled serenely and stepped into the elevator. Shaking his head, Type followed him in.

The restaurant was a bit far to walk, so they hailed a cab. The ride would have been uncomfortable if Tharn hadn’t asked Type’s opinion on the most recent football game. “I heard a couple of guys arguing that it was all the fault of the defense, but that didn’t sound right.”

Football carried them all the way to ordering and Type asked about a new hot band and couldn’t help laughing as Tharn nearly spilled his drink while gesticulating and complaining about the inadequacies of their drummer.

They debated the edibility of raw foods for a while, with Tharn insisting that the use of fire is what made humans human. Type loudly enjoyed his sushi while Tharn ostentatiously put his fork in his cooked shrimp.

Tharn got a bottle of sake, offering some to Type. It wasn’t Type’s favorite alcohol but it seemed rude to refuse when the other was paying. Besides it did go well with sushi.

Type wasn’t drunk when they were done, but he was definitely a little loose. Without a specific destination in mind, they meandered out of the restaurant and walked along the canal, quietly watching the other pedestrians and walking off the sake.

The silence between them unfortunately allowed Type time to wonder what the hell was going on. He glanced at Tharn, who looked totally calm and unbothered, the jerk.

While he was worrying, Type missed a bike messenger hurtling toward them, so he was startled by Tharn’s arm going around his shoulder and pulling him off to the side.

Type felt the wind of the bike passing on one side and the solid warmth of Tharn on the other. “Careful,” Tharn said into his ear.

“Um,” Type said brilliantly.

Tharn didn’t remove his arm, leaving it draped over Type’s shoulder casually. “Apparently, you need a keeper. Who knew?”

Type grumbled. He should push the jerk away for that comment but Tharn felt nice and smelled nice, so…he let it go.

They strolled a bit farther until cabs were thicker on the ground. “Time to head home, I suppose,” Tharn said, finally letting go of Type and waving to hail a cab.

Type was absolutely not disappointed as they rode back to the office to pick up their cars. Tharn was looking out the window, fingers idly tapping on the seat next him while Type fidgeted.

The garage was almost empty when they got out of the cab. Tharn gestured up one level. “I’m parked there.”

Type’s mind whirled as Tharn turned away and he found himself grabbing Tharn’s arm. Tharn half-turned, eyebrow raised in inquiry.

“What are you…” Type didn’t even know what he was asking.

Smiling, Tharn turned back all the way, taking Type’s free hand in his. “Whatever you want,” he said.

Type swallowed. Damn it. He didn’t want to have to make a move. That way lay heartbreak. Heart racing, they stood like that for long enough for the smile to slide off Tharn’s face.

“Sorry,” Tharn said, letting go of Type’s hand. “I won’t bother you anymore.”

Fuck it, Type thought. He yanked on the arm he still held, stepping forward and putting his other hand behind Tharn’s head to pull him in.

It wasn’t a kiss to write home about—a bit off-center and sloppy—but Type felt it down to his bones when Tharn kissed back, tilting his head for a better angle.

Type had no idea how long they stood there kissing, but they were both out of breath when they were done. Tharn leaned his forehead against Type’s, unable to stop smiling.

“Hmmph,” Type said. “Too slow.”

“ _I’m_ too slow?” Tharn’s eyes widened and he started to laugh, pulling Type into a hug.

“Definitely. We’d still be staring at each other if it was up to you.” Type buried his face in Tharn’s neck.

Tharn just held him and laughed, nuzzling Type’s neck in a way that made Type feel shivery and good. “So, what took you so long?” Type asked.

Still smiling, Tharn said, “Well, I was taking Techno’s advice.”

“What?” Type leaned back and stared. “You know him?”

“Sure. He used to come hear my band perform when we were in college. We’ve kept in touch.”

“You asked him about me?”

“He knew about my crush on you back then.”

“You had a—wait, in college?” Type’s voice had gone all high and squeaky.

Tharn’s grin went lopsided. “I came to your games, but you never noticed me.”

“Well, I was a self-centered homophobic shit in college, so…” Type shook his head. “What was Techno’s advice?”

“When I realized we’d be working together, I called him. He said you weren’t homophobic, but definitely skittish, and suggested taking it easy and letting you come to me.”

“Making a bet involving a _date_ is taking it easy?”

“Okay, so I freelanced a bit on the advice.” Tharn smirked. “It worked, though.”

Type sighed, still unsure. “This…what is this?”

“Dating, I hope. That was sort of my plan.”

“Me?”

“You.” Tharn grinned. “Turns out I still have a crush on you.”

“A crush? Ugh, are you a grown man or not?” Type pushed at Tharn’s chest…but not too hard.

Tharn retaliated by pulling him even closer, so their bodies were aligned. “Dunno, would you like to check?”

Swallowing, Type had to admit that Tharn was definitely grown. And currently growing in one area. “Um.”

Tharn loosened his hold and gently kissed Type. “Sorry.”

“No, it’s…okay. It’s good.” Type took a breath. Fuck, if he was going to get his heart broken again, he might as well go for it. “D’you want to come back to my place?”

It was difficult to see Tharn’s exact expression in the shadowy garage lighting, but Type could feel Tharn’s sharp intake of breath against his cheek and the way Tharn’s hands briefly clutched at him. “Yeah,” Tharn said. “I’d like that a lot.”

When those muscled arms he’d been admiring for weeks wrapped around him, Type was surprised to find that he felt safe. Maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t heading for heartbreak after all.

—end—

**Author's Note:**

> It’s totally unnecessary to know my backstory for this fic but I wrote it out for myself, so I figured I’d add it here in case anyone is interested. 
> 
> In this ‘verse, Type was never molested but he was kind of an ass when his friend Kohm came out to him at the end of high school and the embarrassment of that makes him remember himself as being more homophobic than he actually was. In fact, he was just a fairly typical college age jerk who has now grown up ;) 
> 
> Type didn’t think of himself as bisexual in college. He actually met Tharn a few times over the years but he was so mentally closeted that when he found him attractive, his subconscious immediately blotted him out of his mind. At some point Techno is going to laugh his ass off at Type over this fact, since he’s been low-key shipping them for years now.
> 
> Tharn and Type have both had a series of short-term crappy relationships but Lhong doesn’t exist. They’ve just both had bad luck.
> 
> Type graduated and went to play football professionally. Most of the way through one season he accidentally collided with an opposing player and tore up the muscles all along one side of his thigh, waist, and shoulder. Meanwhile, Tharn’s been making a decent but not stellar living as a gig and backup musician. Both of them have sufficient contacts in their respective worlds that the agency decided to hire them.


End file.
